


The Autobot In The Mirror

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people would describe Shockwave as Longarm Prime's evil alter ego.  They'd be wrong.  (Warnings for captivity and torture.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Autobot In The Mirror

Shockwave believed in Longarm Prime.

Now, don’t mistake:  he didn’t believe he _was_ Longarm.  That would be illogical, and dangerous besides.  That way lay the madness of mecha who forgot their own loyalties while undercover, and started fighting for the enemy in earnest.  No.  Shockwave knew perfectly well who he was; but the first stage in creating a convincing cover was to kindle the spark of life in the new identity, to make him _real._ If Shockwave didn’t believe that Longarm actually existed, who would?

Over time, Longarm started to reveal interests and hobbies that were distinct from his alter ego’s.  For example, Shockwave had no use for music; Longarm enjoyed it.  Shockwave always worked through his lunch break, refueling at his console or in his lab.  Longarm would take a datapad with the latest popular thriller and go to the park across from Autobot HQ.  (That was because Longarm was young, and had only ever known peacetime, so stories of danger and murder excited him.  Shockwave was old, and battle-scarred, and killing no longer held any mystery.)

Things started to become a bit strange, though, when it came to the question of interface.  Shockwave had only ever had, and only ever desired, one interface partner:  his lord and master, Megatron.  It was an unpleasant shock, then, when he realised – starting all the way back in boot camp, with that mouthy little yellow sports car – that Longarm had very different urges.  The young Autobot intelligence officer was not attracted to dominant, powerful older mecha like Megatron.  He liked them young.  He liked them fast.  He liked them pretty.  He liked them fast-talking and cocky, and a little naïve, and far too trusting for their own good.

He liked them vulnerable.

And he had his reasons.

Shockwave knew there was going to be trouble the day that Longarm Prime met Blurr.  He had never known another mech who was so perfectly Longarm’s type.  The sleek, elegant spy saluted, his blue optics (Shockwave loathed the colour, but Longarm had never known anything else) shining as he gazed at his new commander.

“Longarm Prime sir Agent Blurr reporting for duty may I say congratulations on your promotion I’ve always been a big fan of your work the way you infiltrated that offworld Decepticon colony was inspired I’m really looking forward to working with you I’m sure Iacon has changed since the last time you were stationed here maybe I can show you around after work?”  And he tilted his head, and grinned in a way that was part challenge, part invitation.

Longarm was smitten.

They settled into a pattern:  Blurr would flirt with his commander, subtly at first, then more outrageously.  He knew that Longarm’s optics lingered on him hungrily, and he’d even heard Longarm’s fans kicking on once or twice when Blurr perched on the edge of his desk, those long legs dangling inches from Longarm’s thighs as he delivered his report.  So he simply couldn’t understand why Longarm always put him off.  Longarm, meanwhile, would maintain the same icy exterior (a front over a front), but it was all part of a long game of push and pull to draw Blurr closer to him, until even the faintest whiff of affection from Longarm would make him let his guard down completely.

And oh, Longarm had _such_ plans for what he would do once he had him.

As head of Autobot Intelligence, he kept a black room for special contingencies, top secret and completely off the grid.  That would be where Blurr would awaken, one day, when their relationship was ripe and Longarm could be sure that Blurr’s disappearance could be explained away.  He would wake up in darkness, believing himself to be alone.  (In reality, Longarm would be glued to his security monitor to catch every second of confusion and blossoming panic on that beautiful face.)

Most mecha would hobble him, but most mecha weren’t Longarm.  Keeping Blurr from running would only mean an overclocked processor with no hope of release, and that would break him far too soon.  No; far better to let him run, and spend his energy throwing himself against walls and zipping around searching for hidden doors.  The slow, creeping horror as he realised that all his cleverness and speed were doing him no good wouldn’t _break_ him, exactly, but it _would_ render him just pliant enough to be interesting.

Just when Blurr’s strength was starting to give out (whether it took hours or weeks), Longarm would open the door.  Blurr would undoubtedly believe he was finally being rescued.  Longarm liked to imagine the wild relief in his expression. 

The moment when Blurr would realise – when that sudden hope would gutter, and that expression would turn to fear – ah, that would be delicious to watch.

Longarm planned to take his time with his beautiful pet, taming him to hand.  And Blurr would be tamed.  Attention was a powerful tool, and validation even more so; withholding them would eventually reduce even the strongest mech to begging.  That was before one even got to the physical pressures that could be brought into play in such a controlled environment:  light and darkness.  Heat and cold.  Food.  Starve the mech for days, then force-feed him until his tanks were overstuffed to bursting.  It wouldn’t be too long before Blurr would willingly eat out of his master’s hand, or lick energon from Longarm’s pede if he demanded it.  The captor was the god of the captive’s little world, and the more capricious that god became, the more desperately he would be worshipped.

Never let it be said that Longarm had learned nothing from his alter ego.

Of course, there would be somepain involved – who could resist playing with all the sensors in those exquisite, trembling legs, or finding out just how sensitive that aerodynamic helm might be?  But making Blurr hurt would just be the energon icing on the goodie of making Blurr _his._

Longarm would always hum when he pictured what what he wanted to do to Blurr.  It drove Shockwave to distraction.  At the same time, though, Longarm’s frame was his frame, and Shockwave couldn’t deny that the images made his plating heat, his wiring crackle with arousal.

In the end, none of it came to pass, because when Blurr unmasked Longarm, he let Shockwave out.  And all Shockwave did was kill him.

Blurr would never know just how lucky he had been.


End file.
